The Husband's Secret(94)
“He gets it—”
“Booya!” There was an explosion of noise around one of the poker machines.
“You bitch, you total bitch!” One of the pretty young girls (“skanky,” Felicity would have described her) slapped her friend’s back while a torrent of coins cascaded from the machine.
“Booya, booya, booya!” A broad-chested young boy pummeling his chest like a gorilla lurched sideways against Tess.
“Watch it, mate,” said Connor.
“Man, I’m so sorry! We just won—” The boy turned around, and his face lit up. “Mr. Whitby! Hey guys, this is my primary school PE teacher! He was, like, the best PE teacher ever.” He stuck out his hand and Connor stood and shook it, shooting a rueful look at Tess.
“How the hell are you, Mr. Whitby?” The boy shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and shook his head as he looked at Connor, seemingly overcome with a sort of paternal emotion.
“I’m good, Daniel,” said Connor. “How are you?”
The boy was suddenly struck by an astonishing thought. “You know what? I’m going to buy you a drink, Mr. Whitby. It would be my fucking pleasure. Seriously. Excuse my language. I may be intoxicated. What are you drinking, Mr. Whitby?”
“You know what, Daniel, that would have been great, but we were actually just leaving.”
Connor held out his hand to Tess and she automatically picked up her bag, got to her feet and took it, as naturally as if they’d been in a relationship for years.
“Is this Mrs. Whitby?” The boy looked Tess up and down, entranced. He turned to Connor and gave him a big sly wink and a thumbs-up. He turned to Tess. “Mrs. Whitby, your husband is a legend. An absolute legend. He taught me, like, long jump, and hockey, and cricket, and, and, like, every sport in the fucking universe, and you know, I look athletic, I know, and I am, but it might surprise you to know that I’m not that coordinated, but Mr. Whitby, he—”
“Gotta go, Daniel.” Connor clapped the boy on the shoulder. “It was good seeing you.”
“Oh, likewise, man. Likewise.”
Connor led Tess out of the bar and into the wonderfully quiet night air.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just losing my mind in there. I think I’m going deaf. And then a drunk ex-student offering to buy me drinks . . . Geez. So, it looks like I’m still holding your hand.”
“It looks like you are.”
What are you doing, Tess? But she didn’t let go. If Will could fall in love with Felicity, if Felicity could fall in love with Will, she could spend a few moments holding hands with an ex-boyfriend. Why not?
“I remember that I always loved your hands,” said Connor. He cleared his throat. “I guess that’s bordering on inappropriate.”
“Oh, well,” said Tess.
He moved his thumb so gently across her knuckle, it was almost imperceptible.
She had forgotten this: the way your senses exploded and your pulse raced, as if you were properly awake after a long sleep. She had forgotten the thrill, the desire, the melting sensation. It just wasn’t possible after ten years of marriage. Everyone knew that. It was part of the deal. She’d accepted the deal. It had never been a problem. She hadn’t even known she’d missed it. If she ever thought about it, it felt childish, silly—“sparks flying”—whatever, who cares, she had a child to care for, a business to run. But, my God, she’d forgotten the power of it. How nothing else felt important. This was what Will had been experiencing with Felicity while Tess was busy with mundane married life.